


Sebaciel drabbles

by irllax



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Primarily smut, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irllax/pseuds/irllax
Summary: A collection of sebaciel shenanigans





	1. Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [nighttimeteaparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighttime_tea_party/pseuds/nighttime_tea_party)’s [prompt](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/148298606599/concept-sebastian-fucking-ciel-in-front-of-a)

He dared not look up and face what he usually only felt. In desperation he once again tried to lift his hands to his face, to cover up those eyes and escape the reality in front him, but to no avail; the silk tie bound his wrists together in delicate little knots, strapping them behind his back.

“Watch,” the low purr sounded in his ear before teeth sunk into his pale skin, forcing a broken cry from his throat. Another thrust and the boy arched his spine as he wailed from pleasure, head now lolling off the side of the demon’s shoulder.

“Watch. I want to see you see you, seeing me,” he whispered and then proceeded with a threat, “unless you want this to end, little one.”

_I can’t. I won’t. You - you demon. I-_

A last hard thrust was all he got, before that delicious spot within was hit and his eyes instantly tore open and stared directly at the hell in front of him;

His own marred and marked skin, that slender hand with the Faustian contract holding him down onto the demon’s chest by his jaw and throat, his legs spread so wide apart, that everything in between was laid out in the most unabashed view for him to see; how the demon slid himself in and out and in and out of him in rough thrusts, his own mouth agape in a loud moan, all while those eyes …

Oh, those eyes watched him and found eye contact within the reflection and held him there, as the demon’s lips and sharp edged teeth left a bruising mess in their wake upon sensitive skin, all while each thrust was so painfully precise, it almost sent him over the edge; _yes, y-yes, oh god yes, more, harder, rougher, MORE!_

“Do you see, little one,” his alluring voice softly spoke, “do you see how delicious you look with that adorable blush upon your face, as you feel me inside you,” and the demon pushed himself in to the hilt for emphasis, eliciting another wailing cry from the boy.

And Ciel saw it all as he took in the view through the large scale mirror in front of him. He saw how black nails raked themselves over thighs and a taut stomach, leaving red welts in their wake. He saw the wicked hellfire blazing eyes of his demon devour him through slitted pupils, as he watched himself being fucked mercilessly, repeatedly. He saw it all.

And he never closed his eyes again.


	2. Devilish games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel loves his games.  
> His favorite? _Hunter and prey_

Ciel loves playing games with Sebastian. Both metaphorical and real life games.

This favorite one starts out by the boy being tucked into bed by Sebastian. When the demon has left him alone, he’ll sneak out of bed - then tiptoe into the dark hallway; his thin nightshirt fluttering around him, as he runs through the halls; the goal always the last piece of cake in the manor’s kitchen.

Ciel knows that Sebastian knows.  
Sebastian knows, that Ciel knows he is chasing after him.

A game of hunter and prey.  
Demon and human.

Ciel loves how they, at first, are all fun and mischievousness. He will snicker and laugh, genuinely, taunt his demon even, “Hurry up Sebastian. I can almost taste the sweetness of the frosting.” Sebastian will deliberately let his heels clack on the hardwood floor, as he rounds yet another the corner, chasing after his little charge.

But what Ciel enjoys the most, is when the real game begins;

When he truly becomes the prey of his demon, Sebastian letting his demonic feats and skills take over and assist him in his chase of the boy:

Ciel feeling himself being caught in a limbo between fight, flight and arousal. Everything becomes eerily silent, not even the wind outside is howling anymore, candelabras dying out, the air around the boy becoming so dense, it feels like he could choke any minute. Ciel hearing nothing but his own labored breath, his small whimpers as he fists a hand into the hem of his nightshirt, the other hand out in front of him, searching for the door handle of the kitchen.

Now a single lit candle in his hand, he sees the cake underneath the bell jar in the center of the kitchen island. Victory. Sweet, delicious victory. Right as he reaches out for the cake, a set of red eyes emerge in front of him, teeth sharp, wicked smirk;

“You have been a very naughty young master - and naughty little boys are punished for their mischief,” the demon’s velvet voice threatens.

And Ciel yelps as pitch black talons enclose themselves around his wrist, another sharp nail trailing it’s path up those supple thighs and now underneath the thin cotton of his nightshirt.

And this is what the boy truly enjoys the most about their nightly little chase;

Having his cake and having his demon, too.

_Yes, children can be quite demanding about their games._


	3. Volatile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need to forget you,” Ciel whispered.

The boy pushes me to the brink of insanity; like he always does. With the way he feigns innocence all while giving me hints of the incubus that hides within. How he manages to seduce me with a fierce stare and a crude mouth spitting nothing but seductive little purrs, keeping me trapped within this hell of wonderment; am I awake? Am I dreaming? Did we really? Did I? Did he?

It rides me like a hypnagoge nightmare - a state in which I am never fully awake, but at the same time fully aware, that this is nothing but a fleeting fucking flight of fancy. A dream. Something to wish for to be true, but it never really will be.

Nothing hurts more than the truths he spits at me, forcing me to awake from this lucid dream and suck up the cold light of morning and face the bittersweet feeling;

Here’s what I know:

I need you, he whispered into my ear late at night.

_Please._

I answered with a wicked smirk and only proceeded to undress the beauty in front of me, only slight touches but never really committing to the harsh reality of it all - the reality being, that if I touch this boy, I’ll forever shatter what was and have never been between us. _This is volatile._

_Please_ , he whispers into the darkness.

And suddenly I recall how he took me to that beautiful place of his own dreams; how he showed me his inner turmoil masked in statues and false idols of the past. His grey blue slated hair fluttered as he strode past me in a blur - knee garters and black socks on calves, a midnight blue trenchcoat and a white, crisp dress shirt, black shorts, painfully beautiful cerulean blue eyes;

“Close your eyes, I’ll lead you. Trust me,” he whispered.

And he took my hand. Lead me throughout the room - I’ll admit, I peeked once, as I didn’t trust my own steps and I didn’t put my faith in the fragility of the boy, should I misstep. I’d have crushed him under my weight, had I fallen over.

And there, in the beauty of it all, he showed me death. Peeking up at a literal statue of death in front of me; and the boy smiled his wicked, crooked smile and whispered; “I love how the maiden has that half-lidded stare, like she actually submits to the thought of being in the arms of death.”

And I made him whimper and submit just the same, more than once, over and over again. In the arms of a figurative death, when he whimpered underneath my touch. I bound his hands to keep him from ripping me from him by force, as he has done so many times before. Telling me I shouldn’t do this. That he shouldn’t do this.

And I shouldn’t cradle him in my arms, as he sobs out the last remnants of his orgasm. But I hold him close and for the first time in forever I dream a dreamless dream. Simply because he isn’t a part of it, I don’t care to remember it.

I wake to have him in my arms. But he is cold to the touch, his skin has changed from the hours of the night to the cold of the day; it’s gray outside. His eyes doesn’t hold the same warmth and passion they did the night before. They pity me now. And in that moment I couldn’t tell his feelings, his emotions, his everything - anymore.

I tried to feign an adult outer strong suit but I ended up crying in front of him, the feeling of wanting to beg had never been stronger. But I didn’t. And he told me I should stop acting like we would never see each other again.

_The promised silver ring on his ring finger shone bright in the few rays of sunlight, that peeked through the window._ He didn’t look at me anymore.

“Goodbye, Sebastian,” he whispered.

And then I left.

And submitted to the cruelty of knowing the fact, that I had had Ciel Phantomhive within my grasp for a fleeting moment of my life, only to never have him again.


	4. Arduous travels

Arduous travels comes in many shapes and forms; one of them was the exceptionally boring bus ride from one end of the country to the other. And of course Ciel had demanded we travel by ground, instead of heights - the poor boy never did conquer his fright of flights.

_Sebastian, entertain me_ , the boy demanded of me.

And entertained he were;

The lights were all turned down low in the back of the bus, the night outside shrouding us in darkness. The people left on the long distance coach were either half asleep or sitting farther away; no one noticing the low moans now escaping perfect pink and plump lips;

“You with your wicked demands and your taunting - I’ll make you pay dearly,” I whisper, as I let my hand slide from your neck to your jaw, and unto your lips.

“Bite them, Phantomhive,“ I demand, as I let two fingers slide over your deliciously pert lips, while the other hand slowly trails up your naked legs, which are only covered in small shorts and thigh highs. Every trace of a circle on your inner thigh has you dripping with want already, every scrape of a sharp nail on your skin is a pleading for you to spread your legs further apart for me;

“Mmhm, good boy,” I praise you and you’re rewarded with a kiss on your neck, your jaw, your cheek, the little spot right next to your lips, too, as I revel in hearing the desperation and regret of challenging me leave you in excited little breaths.

And as you bite my fingers with your perfect pearly whites, I let a perfectly timed gasp escape me. Not loudly. Not so that anyone but you would hear it, moaned quietly into your ear … and at the same time I grab you viciously by the apex of your creamy white thighs, letting my black painted claws sink into your naked skin.

“Schhh! sch, sch,” I hush you, before continuing my explanation of the events at hand, “you don’t want anyone to know how wickedly sinful you are right now, do you? Sitting here, in a crowded public transportation, recieving all sorts of pleasure … my my, Phantomhive; indeed you are a cruel little master,”

And as I shut you up with a deep and desperate kiss (after all, I am simply one hell of a needy human, too) I slide my fingers up under the hem of your shorts. Your cerulean blue meet my own ruby red in a gaze painted with mortification, but you don’t tell me no. Instead that horrified gaze slowly turns lidded, all to have your eyes shut completely, when I finally reach your hardened cock - and oh my, I never took you for an exhibitionist, little one.

“Ciel,” I say with a touch of nerve, to demand your attention …

“Mmmhm,” you moan out quietly, as you keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut.

“How deliciously wet you have already become from such little teasing,”

“Oh shut up, Seb-aa - AH!!”

And before you manage to sass me further, I plunge my tounge into your mouth; you taste like the chocolate you ate just minutes before, bitter and delectable, and I simply cannot get enough. I catch myself eagerly biting your lips, your tounge, while only being slightly aware of how my hands work of their own accord, to make you a complete mess;

scratching your skin, leaving marks, pumping your cock in a fast and precise motion - which I know will send you over the edge soon enough - and you manage to slide your shorts down your thighs, desperate to recieve more and more and more.

And I oblige.

The windows are getting tinted with condensation from our heated act, the other passengers still oblivious to our actions. And right as I hear your breath and moans get all too intense, I detach my lips from your own needy ones, replace my hand on your cock with my mouth, proceeding to lick and suck you skillfully, having you spend within seconds.

“Oh, S-Sebastian,” I hear you cry out, as I feel you spill your release down my throat over and over again. Oh sweet hell I think to myself. And I revel in the taste of something so delicious, it could only be recognised as the one thing, the only thing that I, Sebastian Michaelis, will ever want;

_Ciel Phantomhive._


	5. Simpatico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [sɪmˈpatɪkəʊ]
> 
> 1\. adjective, italian  
> congenial or like-minded; likeable
> 
> From a Sebaciel Word of the Day challenge on Tumblr

Four glasses of champagne later it was evident, that the earl wasn’t one to hold his liquor well - which was to be expected given his petite stature, Sebastian knew this well. But the young master has been cross with his demon since early morning. How was he, Ciel Phantomhive, to explain why the bedsheets had been stained, without admitting to his heated, nightly dreams, where said demon constantly haunted him with his piercing eyes, elongated fangs, wicked tounge?

So Ciel had resorted to the solution he knew best; feigning ignorance of his embarrasment and instead ordering Sebastian not to mention a word, do his job _and stop glaring at me with that smirk_. And now the lavish ball at the Phantomhive manor was at it’s peak. Poor Elizabeth was left with a slight pout on her face, due to her fiancé stepping on her toes in midst of their waltz, the young master’s usual conceited gait now effected by his inebriated state, causing a slight sway in his every step.

As Ciel reached for his fifth glass - _it’s my bloody party, I am allowed to indulge for once, am I not? Release me this instant!_ \- Sebastian quickly resorted to dragging Ciel from the room with one hand, the other waving excuses accompanied by a polite smile at the bystanders. In a flash they were in the solitude of the master bedroom, Ciel being thrown on the bed, Sebastian firmly pinning him to the bed by his wrists.

“What on earth are you-”

“So you can still manage coherent words? We’ll have to change that,” the demon interrupted, whispering into the ear of his little charge, before nibbling on the cobalt pearl that pierced it.

“Change wha- _AH!_ ” the boy gasped.

“I have been _in your service_ long enough, to know the pattern of your childish frustrations - and your childhood is no longer, young master. I know very well which frustrations you harbour,” the truth spilling from the butler’s skilled lips, as they slithered towards the boy’s defined jawline, “from your verbal frustrations here,” and a wicked tongue briefly flicked across Ciel’s lower lip, “to your sinful, succulent frustrations hidden _here_ ,” one glove clad hand slipping from a frail wrist and down the boy’s sides, inbetween his legs.

“Ah, S-sebastian, you … I-”, slight whimpers already escaping the boy.

“If you cannot be honest with yourself, I will have your body do it for you. And what a delectable and delicious little truth you are. So much more compliant to sin when liquor touch these lips. Perhaps you ought to indulge more often?”

A devilish smirk, those slit pupils, that silver tongue. Just like the horribly wonderful nightmare.

Guests were forgotten and disregarded, the bedroom door remained locked for the rest of the night. The little devil finally indulged and showed his true self, the real devil finally showing a little more of his true, indulgent self. Silly, really - how two inseparable beings, one soul, one black void, finally collapse in on themselves, becoming **simpatico** , becoming one - simply due to toxic little fizzy bubbles.


End file.
